Doctor Who: The Art Of Terror
by TubalCainUK
Summary: Dinner and a show at the Savoy, 1887 style. A chance for the Doctor and Donna Noble to relax. But the premiere of Gilbert and Sullivan's latest opera 'Ruddygore' hides a secret, which may prove to be deadly...


"How does dinner and a show at the Savoy sound?" said the Doctor, looking up from the Tardis console.

"Are you serious?" asked Donna, suspicion in her voice.

"Perfectly," the Doctor replied with a smile.

"What's the catch?"

"Catch? Why does there have to be a catch? Two pals having a good night out. What's the harm in that, eh?" He grinned.

Donna's face softened. "All right spaceman, you're on. What's on? 'Wicked'?"

"Better than that. 'Ruddygore'."

"Ruddy what?"

"'Ruddygore'. Gilbert and Sullivan. The Savoy in its original glory. 1887!" He pressed a button on the console with a flourish and the central column began to rise and fall. "Come on, you'll have to get changed. You can't mingle with the cream of Victorian society in a Pink Floyd T-shirt and jeans."

Donna made her way to the Wardrobe Room and returned a few minutes later, the picture of late nineteenth-century elegance. "Your turn," she said to the Doctor. "I'm not being taken to the opera by a man dressed like a 1970s' accountant."

The Doctor grinned again, went out and re-entered dressed in tails, a cloak and a top hat. "Watch out Mr. D'Oyly Carte, here we come. Allons-y!" He pulled the lever that opened the Tardis doors, offered his arm to Donna and together they stepped into Victorian London.

"You've certainly excelled yourself, Gilbert," said Richard D'Oyly Carte, the owner and manager of the Savoy Theatre, to the exceptionally tall gentleman standing by his side.

"It's Ballard and Craven whom you should thank, Carte," replied Mr. Gilbert gruffly. "All I provided was a sketch." They were looking at the second-act set, in which an array of portraits of the deceased Baronets of Ruddygore dominated the stage.

"I still think we're being premature by taking off 'The Mikado' while it's still doing so well," called out Sir Arthur Sullivan from the orchestra pit.

"Not at all," said Gilbert. "Keep 'em wanting more, eh, Carte?"

"Quite," said Carte. "The touring companies for 'The Mikado' are sold out for months. By the time receipts start to fall off, 'Ruddygore' will be ready to tour the Provinces."

"But it's been such an expensive show to mount," complained Sullivan. "A wonderful set, yes, and the costumes are exquisite, but to reproduce them for each and every touring company - "

"There will have to be inevitable compromises, Arthur," said Carte soothingly. "Our audience knows that the production at the Savoy is always the best of the best."

Sullivan said nothing, shrugged and screwed his trademark monocle into his eye. He addressed the orchestra. "Ready, gentlemen?" He raised his baton and began conducting the duet for Sir Ruthven and Gideon Crawle which opened the second act.

"No cast out front during a dress rehearsal!" barked Gilbert at a chorister dressed as a Parliamentarian officer who had sidled into a seat behind Gilbert and Carte to watch the beginning of the second act. The man scuttled off in terror and almost collided with a lady and gentleman who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

"Can I help you?" asked D'Oyly Carte.

"The Duke and Duchess of Islington," said the Doctor with a broad smile, producing his wallet with the psychic paper. "My card."

Carte peered at the paper which to Donna, as always, looked completely blank - as it was. Then he straightened up and nodded.

"We're very honoured by your presence, your Graces," he said. "I am Mr. Richard D'Oyly Carte and this is Mr. W. S. Gilbert." Gilbert bowed. "What can I do for you?"

"We've come to see the show tonight," said the Doctor, "but we seem to have arrived a little early. Do you mind if we watch a little bit of the dress rehearsal?"

"Certainly not," said Gilbert sharply. "We never permit any details to become public knowledge before - "

"I think we may make an exception for their Graces," interrupted Carte, looking daggers at Gilbert. "I'm sure they would not spoil the surprise for anyone."

"Oh, no, of course not," said Donna in what she thought was a posh accent. The Doctor shook his head and said with his eyes, No, don't do that.

Gilbert sighed and said, "Very well. But please, no noise."

The Doctor and Donna sat in two of the plush seats. "I can't believe it," said Donna. "I've just met Gilbert. Of Gilbert and Sullivan! But where's Sullivan?"

"Conducting," whispered the Doctor, motioning her to be quiet, as Gilbert fixed them with a stern arch of his eyebrows.

On the stage, two men - Sir Ruthven and Gideon Crawle - were speaking. Then the orchestra struck up a lively tune and the ladies' chorus came skipping on, with a girl in a wedding dress and a man dressed as a jolly Jack Tar. They began to sing.

"So what's this Bloodygore about, then?" whispered Donna.

"The bloke in the cloak who's just gone off, he's the Bad Baronet, and he was pretending to be good in the first half and he got engaged to the girl who's singing now, but when she found out who he really was she dumped him and got engaged to the sailor boy there instead, who is - or was - the Bad Baronet's best friend."

"Right," said Donna slowly. "Just like EastEnders then."

They watched in silence for a few minutes. Then the Bad Baronet made a speech in a very loud voice, calling on his ancestors for mercy, and the stage went dark.

There was an awkward silence.

"Lights on the portraits! Now!" thundered Gilbert from his seat.

"Sorry, sir," a voice called out from behind them. "The power overloaded the circuits. We'll have it fixed in a jiffy."

"I thought Victorians used gas lighting?" whispered Donna to the Doctor.

"This is the Savoy Theatre," he whispered back. "The first public building in the world to be completely lit by electricity. This is very hi-tech."

A minute or so later, dim pools of light illuminated the portraits of the ancestors. They had an eerie blue glow. "Nice effect," said Donna. "Very hi-tech for 1887."

The Doctor was frowning. "That's what's worrying me. Just a little too hi-tech for my liking." He took his sonic screwdriver out of his coat pocket and shook it. It began emitting a shrill whine.

Mr. Gilbert turned round in his seat and stared at them fiercely. "Do you mind!" he hissed.

The Doctor said, "Sorry," and hid the screwdriver again. He stood up.

"Where are you going?" asked Donna.

"I need to take a closer look at those portraits," replied the Doctor. "Come on."

He left the auditorium, Donna trailing behind, and made his way towards a door leading to the backstage area. It was locked, but the sonic made short work of the lock. He opened the door and marched past a man behind a small desk, who was startled at the sudden intrusion. The Doctor flashed his psychic paper at the man and said, "John Smith. Government Inspector. Just checking that all the electrics are safe."

"But we had an inspection only last week - " the man responded feebly.

"Can never be too careful," said Donna as she passed him.

Donna jogged to catch up with the Doctor and said, "What are we looking for?"

"I want to see what mechanism they're using in the portraits. To be more specific, I want to see if they contain any technology that doesn't belong in nineteenth-century Earth."

"Why should there be any mechanism in a painting?"

The Doctor turned to face her. "The idea in the story is that the portraits come to life as the ghosts of the ancestors of the Bad Baronet. What that means in practice is that there are a load of cabinets on the stage with the portraits on the front. When the stage goes dark, the fronts of the cabinets open and the actors standing inside the cabinets are revealed."

"Sounds simple enough to me. What would they need any future or alien tech for?"

"They don't. But someone else might."

The music on the stage was in full swing, the gentlemen's chorus bellowing "Baronet of Ruddygore, last of our accursed line". The cabinets behind the portraits were empty, save one which contained the actor playing Sir Roderic Murgatroyd. The Doctor sidled into the back of the nearest cabinet to the edge of the stage, pressing himself against the side wall so as not to be seen. He drew out his sonic and waved it around the cabinet. It gave out the same shrill noise as before, which got louder and higher-pitched as it got closer to the front edge of the cabinet where the portrait had been. "Very odd," he said to himself. "Now I wonder - "

"You!" came an irascible shout from the auditorium. It was Gilbert's voice. "Yes, you, inside the cabinet! What the devil do you think you're doing?"

Sullivan, in the orchestra pit, motioned for the singers and orchestra to stop. Silence fell. Gilbert's voice boomed out again. "Come out of there at once!"

The Doctor, rather sheepishly, stepped forward onto the stage. "Erm, sorry," he said. "But I was very curious to look at how you did the ghost materialisation thing. I've, er, I've got a professional interest in materialisation, and - "

"Get out!" ordered Gilbert. "I don't care who you are, just get out of this theatre now! Mr. Wilkinson!"

After a few seconds the man the Doctor and Donna had passed on their way into the backstage area appeared. He was a short, chubby man with a red and friendly face, and he was dressed in shirtsleeves, a waistcoat and a leather apron. "Yes, sir?" he asked nervously, peering into the auditorium.

"Escort this - gentleman and his lady companion out of the theatre at once!" Gilbert barked.

"Certainly, sir," said Wilkinson. He led the Doctor into the wings, where Donna was doing her best to see what was going on without being spotted.

"Come along, Donna, we're being evicted," the Doctor said to her cheerfully.

"I'm terribly sorry about this, sir, madam," said Wilkinson aloud, leading them towards the stage door of the theatre. Then, when he was sure no-one else could see or hear them, he whispered, "Quick. In here." He motioned them into a small store room.

He closed the door behind him and turned to face the Doctor and Donna. "I've no more idea who you are or where you're from than Mr. Gilbert," he said, "but I just know you're here to help."

"Help? What do you need help for?" asked Donna.

"The things that have been happening here over the past few days," said Wilkinson.

When he failed to elaborate, Donna asked, "Such as?"

"The ghosts," said Wilkinson with a shudder.

"What, you mean the portraits coming to life? It's just a stage effect, there's nothing weird about that."

"I don't think they're the ghosts Mr. Wilkinson is referring to, are you, Mr. Wilkinson?" said the Doctor softly.

"No, sir," said Wilkinson, looking the Doctor directly in the eye. "I mean the _real_ ghosts."

"There's no such thing as ghosts," retorted Donna. She looked at the Doctor, with doubt in her eyes. "Is there?"

"If you mean the spirits of dead people floating about and doing horrible things to you, then no," said the Doctor. "But if you mean things that can't be explained in nineteenth-century terms, then very much yes."

"You mean like holograms?" asked Donna.

"Oh no, nothing so crude as that," said the Doctor with a grim smile.

"All right then spaceman, spill the beans," said Donna impatiently. "What did you find out from that cabinet on the stage?"

"Shhh!" hissed Wilkinson. They all held their breath as footsteps passed by along the corridor outside.

"They've gone," Wilkinson said after a few seconds.

"Where did you see these ghosts, Mr. Wilkinson?" asked the Doctor gently.

"In the wings, sir. Just yesterday. When they were testing the lights."

"How do you know they were ghosts?"

"Because I could see straight through them, sir."

"What were they like?"

"Like... like... like people, sir, only they didn't have faces. Not proper faces, like you and me. Just sort of... blank. And they weren't wearing clothes, sir, begging your ladyship's pardon. They were like shapes, sir, more than people."

"What happened, Mr. Wilkinson?"

"There were two of them, sir. They came through the scenery and came towards me."

"Walking?"

"More like floating, sir. One of them passed straight through me. It was a horrible, cold, clammy feeling, sir. Then they disappeared."

"Through the wall?"

"No, sir, they just vanished. One moment they were there, and then they weren't."

"No, it couldn't be..." the Doctor muttered to himself.

"What couldn't be? What do you know?" demanded Donna.

"Know? I don't _know_ anything, Miss Noble. But I have a very strong hunch." Donna gave him a hard stare, so he continued, "One of the standard programs which always runs in the background on my sonic is something that detects when technology is present which doesn't belong here. That's why it was sounding that alarm. And it found something in the cabinets - or rather, in the edges of the cabinets." Both Donna and Wilkinson looked puzzled. "Donna, what happens when you come into the Tardis?"

Donna didn't really understand the Doctor's question. "Nothing."

"I mean, where do you come _from_ and where do you go _to_?"

"I go _from_ the outside and _to_ the inside," she replied, sarcastically exaggerating his emphasis.

"And where is the inside, relative to the outside?"

"Inside it, of course."

"No! It isn't! That's the whole point!" The Doctor danced wildly round the other two in a big circle. "How can it be inside it when it's bigger than it? The Tardis is dimensionally transcendental. That means, when you enter it, you transcend the dimension you were in and enter the dimension the Tardis is in. You go into a different dimension entirely."

Poor Wilkinson looked very frightened. Donna noticed the look. "You'll get used to him," she said.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Wilkinson, we didn't introduce ourselves to you properly. This is Miss Donna Noble. She's human like you, just from about a hundred and twenty years in the future. I'm the Doctor, from the planet Gallifrey in the constellation of Kasterborous. I'm a Time Lord." Wilkinson's eyes grew even wider. "Come with me." He opened the door and cautiously peeped out. The corridor was empty. He went out, back towards the stage area.

"Where are you going?" Donna hissed. The Doctor didn't answer. Donna shrugged and turned to Wilkinson. "He's off again. We'd better get after him before he gets himself into trouble again." She strode off down the corridor after the Doctor. Wilkinson hesitated for a moment, then hurried after her.

In a few seconds they had arrived at Wilkinson's little desk at the entrance to the backstage area. "Mr. Wilkinson, would you mind checking if the coast is clear?" the Doctor said.

Wilkinson nodded, then opened the door and looked out into the much plusher corridor at the side of the auditorium. "All clear," he said.

"Good. Right. Into the Tardis, everyone. Spit spot!"

He led the way down the corridor, Donna and Wilkinson at his heels. Round the corner stood the Tardis. "What in the name of Heaven is that?" breathed Wilkinson.

"That, my dear Mr. Wilkinson, is my ship."

"Ship? It's a box! It's like Private Willis' sentry box but painted blue. And what does 'Police Box' mean? Is it part of the scenery for 'Pirates'?"

Without answering, the Doctor opened the door of the Tardis and went inside. The others followed.

Wilkinson had to catch his breath. "Glory be!" he exclaimed. "What is this?"

"As I said, Mr. Wilkinson, this is my ship. The Tardis. Time And Relative Dimension In Space." He ran round and round the console, flicking switches and turning dials.

"But it's - it's - huge!"

"Practically infinite, Mr. Wilkinson. And that's my point."

"What point... Doctor?"

"The portrait cabinets. The sonic picked up a frequency from them. A unique frequency. The same frequency that operates in the dimensional portal in the entrance to the Tardis."

"Whoa," interrupted Donna. "Are you saying that those cabinets on the stage are... _Tardises_?"

"No, not really," the Doctor replied. "But someone has installed some Time Lord technology into them, technology which causes anyone who enters one of them to enter another dimensional space. Or for someone - or something - in another dimensional space to enter ours."

"So aliens are going to come out of those cabinets?" cried Donna in horror.

"That's certainly a possibility. But we still know very little at the moment." The Doctor continued flicking switches, then the central column began to rise and fall.

"Where are we going?" Donna asked.

"Somewhere a bit less conspicuous," said the Doctor.

The Tardis materialised in the store room into which Wilkinson had ushered them earlier. As he stepped out, he gasped, "But how did we get here?"

"We dematerialised in one place and rematerialised in another place. I'll explain later," replied the Doctor absent-mindedly. "Now, who would have access to Time Lord technology?"

"The Time Lords, by any chance?" Donna suggested, in her best are-you-thick-or-what voice.

"No, I'm the only Time Lord left, remember. Oh, no..."

"I don't like the way you said that, Doctor," said Donna.

"The only race I know of who have used Time Lord technology with any degree of success... are the Daleks."

"Are they bad?" asked Wilkinson.

"Yes, Mr. Wilkinson. They are bad. They are very, very bad. Take the baddest thing you can think of, add another wopping great slice of bad and that still won't be bad enough."

"Who are they, Doctor?"

"The Daleks, Mr. Wilkinson, are my oldest enemy. Creatures with no compassion or mercy, whose only desire is to destroy any life that isn't them and to make themselves the supreme race in the Universe."

"And they're going to come through those cabinets on the stage?" exclaimed Donna.

"I think that's their plan, yes."

"But why haven't they done it already?"

"The Daleks like nothing better than to induce terror in the people they conquer. What better than to appear when the theatre is packed with the high society of the most populated city on Earth and spread panic and fear, before exterminating them. They're waiting till tonight's performance."

"So we like, destroy the cabinets?"

"That won't be so easy, especially with Mr. Gilbert around. And we mustn't change history. The premiere of 'Ruddygore' happened tonight. If we destroy the cabinets, the premiere will have to be postponed and that didn't happen."

"So?"

"So? _So_? Donna Noble, after all our adventures together, have you learned nothing about the perils of changing history?"

"It's just a stage show. So what if it starts a day or two late?"

"If it starts a day or two late," the Doctor replied testily, "then all the reference books in the future on the subject will be altered. Millions of molecules will not be in the right places. People attending the Gilbert and Sullivan Festival in your time will behave slightly differently. People who should meet won't meet. In 2589, the woman who discovers the cure to the space plague which threatens this quadrant of the galaxy won't be born, and half the population of Earth will be wiped out."

"You're having me on," said Donna with a laugh.

"There's a Festival dedicated to Mr. Gilbert's and Sir Arthur's works centuries in the future?" asked Wilkinson.

"It starts off as an international thing in 1994, and goes interstellar in 2203," said the Doctor.

"These Daleks, Doctor... are they the ghosts I saw?" Wilkinson asked.

"No," said the Doctor with a frown. "That's the part of the mystery that doesn't add up. That happened before, with the Cybermen. But they've never been able to master Time Lord tech." He paused, thinking for a moment, then said, "No, we need a way to disable those portals without interfering with the events of today. I need to get at them without being seen."

"Or, Doctor, I can get at them without worrying about being seen," said Wilkinson, smiling roguishly.

The Doctor stared at him for a moment. Then he took out his sonic screwdriver and handed it to him. "This works by thought waves, Mr. Wilkinson. Basically, you point it at what you want it to work on, then you think really hard about what you want to do with it. But it takes years of practice, and each screwdriver tends to adapt itself to its owner's brain waves, making it very difficult for anyone else to use it, so - "

"Nothing ventured, nothing win, as Mr. Gilbert would say, Doctor." He put the sonic in the pocket of his leather apron and went out of the store room.

"Now what?" asked Donna.

"We wait for him to return," replied the Doctor simply.

After about twenty minutes, Wilkinson returned. "All done, Doctor," he said, handing back the sonic. "Crisis averted."

"Well done, Mr. Wilkinson," said the Doctor.

"Call me Charlie, Doctor," said Wilkinson.

"Charlie. Well, Donna, shall we go and have dinner, and then watch the show?"

"But what about Mr. Gilbert? If he sees us he'll throw us out again."

"Gilbert never attends the first nights of his operas. He's too nervous. He goes pacing up and down Westminster Bridge usually."

"In that case, spaceman, lead on."

"Goodbye, Charlie," said the Doctor, shaking his hand.

"I'm sure it'll be just au revoir, Doctor," replied Wilkinson, with another curious smile.

Donna hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. He blushed. "Sorry for being a bit forward, but we do that a lot in my time."

"Thank you, Miss Noble," he said. The Doctor and Donna left the room.

Wilkinson waited a few minutes, then opened the door. No-one was in the corridor. He smiled and headed towards the stage.

Dinner had been lovely, and the first act very funny. "I used to hate Gilbert and Sullivan," said Donna during the interval. "My granddad was always playing it and singing 'Three Little Maids From School' around the house. But this is good stuff."

"Now I've got a mental picture of your granddad dressed as a Japanese maiden," replied the Doctor. "Eeeewww."

They made their way back to their seats and settled down to watch the second half. The audience applauded as the curtains flew back to reveal the Murgatroyds' picture gallery. The Doctor and Donna did the same.

Donna was pleased to see the Doctor relaxed and laughing - something that didn't happen very often. Then the Ghost Scene started. The Doctor stiffened and went white.

The same eerie blue glow surrounded the portraits.

"The portals are still active," the Doctor said in a furious whisper.

"But Charlie said he'd deactivated them," said Donna.

"Maybe he couldn't. Never mind that now. We've got to stop this. Daleks - Cybermen - _things_ are going to come through those cabinets any second." He stood up and made his way into the aisle. He ran up to the stage, shouting, "Stop! Stop the show now!"

Wilkinson appeared, still wearing his apron. "Doctor?"

"Charlie, those cabinets are still working."

"I know, Doctor." He smiled in a way the Doctor didn't like. "I never tried to deactivate them. They have to go through."

"Charlie, what have you done? They could be deadly, they - "

"I really am sorry about this, Doctor." He produced a metallic object from the pocket of his apron and hit the Doctor on the head with it, knocking him out.

"Doctor!" screamed Donna, jumping out of her seat and dashing to him.

"It's no good, Miss Noble, you can't stop them." Wilkinson looked calm, even happy.

Meanwhile, the audience, the performers on the stage, the orchestra and even Sir Arthur himself were acting as if nothing unusual was happening. Donna turned to the people on the front row. "Stop him! Can't you see what he's doing!"

They stared straight through her as if she weren't there. "Sir Arthur!" she bellowed into Sullivan's ear, as she leaned into the orchestra pit. "Help!"

"Perception filter, Miss Noble," said Wilkinson. "You can't stop them."

"But I can stop _you_ ," she roared. She launched herself at Wilkinson. They landed on top of one of the footlights. A huge shower of sparks rose into the air. Donna was thrown backwards and landed near the Doctor, just as he began to come round.

Wilkinson cried out in pain. The Doctor and Donna looked at him. He was badly burned on his face and arms. "Help me!" he cried. "Please!"

"We'll all be dead in a few minutes, thanks to you!" Donna retorted.

"No, you don't understand. Get me into the Tardis, please!"

"The Tardis? Why do you want to go into the Tardis?" asked the Doctor, still feeling groggy.

"Please!" begged Wilkinson.

The Doctor and Donna picked up the little man and hauled him onto their shoulders. They took him out of the auditorium, down the corridor and into the store room. The Doctor opened the Tardis door and they went inside. Then they dropped him onto the floor.

"We've got to stop those creatures - whatever they are - coming through," said the Doctor, heading back out again.

"But what about him? We can't just leave him!"

"First things first," said the Doctor. "The whole planet is at stake."

They dashed back into the auditorium and paused, watching the scene on the stage. It was already long past the entrance of the ghosts; the chorus were singing the piece leading up to where they re-entered their cabinets. "I don't understand," said the Doctor. "Why haven't they appeared?"

"I think they have, Doctor," said Donna, pointing.

Through the walls, the "ghosts" that Wilkinson had described appeared. There were dozens. They seemed to be drifitng, yet they all made their way towards the stage - and the cabinets.

"Of course. Stupid, stupid Doctor!" said the Doctor, hitting his head with his hand.

"What?" asked Donna.

"Remember I said that the portals could allow something to come from another dimensional space into ours, but also that something from our space could go into the other one? _That's_ what's happening. It's not an invasion, it's a homecoming. These creatures are from another dimension and they've been trapped here - and the portals are their way to get home!"

"But what about the stolen TIme Lord technology? And why here?"

"This is the first public building in the world to be entirely lit by electricity, remember. This is the first place on this planet that has the power source to make the portals work. And I'm starting to think that the Time Lord technology wasn't stolen at all." Donna looked confused. "You were right, Donna!" said the Doctor with a smile. "When I asked who could have used Time Lord tech, you said, the Time Lords."

"But you're the last Time Lord - " Donna began.

"Quick! Back to the Tardis!" He dashed out of the auditorium, leaving Donna standing there stunned for a moment. Then she followed.

When she entered the Tardis, the Doctor was standing over Wilkinson. Wilkinson's hands were emitting a strange orange glow. He was saying, "As I said, Doctor, I'm really sorry I had to knock you out. To knock _me_ out."

He brought the metal object he had used to hit the Doctor out of his apron pocket. It was a sonic screwdriver, only with a purple light rather than the Doctor's blue one. He held it up. The Doctor produced his own sonic. They touched and there was a small flurry of sparks.

"The same sonic," said the Doctor with a grin.

"The same sonic," agreed Wilkinson. "The same Doctor."

"You're him?" demanded Donna. "You were the Doctor, all along?"

"Yes, Donna," said Wilkinson. "I installed the portals in the cabinets. They had to get home, you see, or they'd have died. I'd forgotten I'd played a part in all this in my past," he nodded towards the Doctor, "but I remembered when you turned up. That's why I didn't turf you out when Mr. Gilbert asked me to."

"Why didn't you tell me who you were before?" asked the Doctor.

"As you said, Doctor, changing history could be very perilous. Especially my own history." His head fell back to the floor. The orange glow enveloped his head.

"But it's my fault you're like this," said Donna in tears. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologise, Donna," replied Wilkinson, smiling gently. "I've plenty of regenerations left. And I'm a bit better at controlling how I turn out these days."

The orange glow covered Wilkinson's whole body. His face began to change - but not much. The glow faded and he stood up.

"There now, that wasn't too bad." His voice was slightly different - a shade deeper; his face just barely altered. And his clothes still fitted him perfectly. "Donna, do you have a mirror handy?"

Without speaking, she fished in her handbag and handed him a small mirror. He gazed at his reflection with admiration. "There now, I don't imagine Mr. Carte will notice the difference."

"Erm, I know I'm not supposed to know too much about my own future," said the Doctor, "but what are you - what am I doing working at the Savoy Theatre in the 1800s?"

"You could say it's a kind of sabbatical," said Wilkinson. "When you get to my age you don't want to be wandering all the time. I'm happy, I have a good home and I'm in love..."

"In love?" asked the Doctor in disbelief.

"Ah ah. Spoilers." Wilkinson winked at Donna, then went out.

"Just time to catch the end of the show," said the Doctor. "Coming?"

"I think I rather lost the plot, Doctor. In more ways than one. I think we should go back to the start and see it all over again." The Doctor looked aghast. "Just kidding!" she said laughing, and they went to reclaim their seats.


End file.
